


once a robin

by carefulren



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Batfamily (DCU), Damian Wayne is Robin, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Gen, Headaches & Migraines, Injury, Jason Todd is Red Hood, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Sickfic, Tim Drake is Red Robin, Whump, Whumpfic, batbros, but it kinda ends in a good day, jason has a bad day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:34:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26384215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carefulren/pseuds/carefulren
Summary: Jason reluctantly shows up to a mission with a migraine, finding that the others aren't much better off.
Comments: 11
Kudos: 260





	once a robin

Jason knows the second he’s pulled from sleep by a low vibration close to his head that today’s going to go down in the books as, to put it simply, a bad day. There’s a dull sense of pressure in his head, pushing lightly against the base of his skull, and his phone buzzing insistently beside his head is only heightning his overall awareness that he’s got one hell of a mirgaine trying to grow against his brain. 

He slaps his hand around blindly for his phone, squeezing his eyes shut against the drum of pressure as he clumsily presses answer on his phone with a groan. 

“Look, Dick Brain, I’ve already told you that I’m not teaming up with you lot of dumb birds tonight. I have my own shit, so you you all need to keep your shit to yourselves.” 

_“Master Jason?”_

Jason isn’t prepared for the polite accent on the other line, one that’s distinctly laced with an air of disappointment. He shoots up in bed, his free hand flying to push against the alarming wave of pressure that’s blooming across is forehead. “Shit, Alfred. Sorry. I didn’t realize it was you.” 

_“I assumed as much. Did I wake you?”_

Jason clears his throat to rid the lingering dryness from sleep that’s coating his throat. He blinks slowly at the digital clock on his bedside table until his mind finally makes sense of the numbers and orders: 10:22 AM. 

He contemplates lying for a breath of a moment only to chase the thought away with a shake of the head. Alfred will know; he always does. 

“Yeah,” he laughs quietly. “Guess I slept in a little.” 

_“Are you quite alright, Master Jason? It’s unlike you to sleep past 7 AM.”_

Jason mentally supplies the words that go unsaid: ‘because of your nightmares.’ Sighing, he digs his fingers into his forehead, massaging around the blossoming pressure. “Yeah, just a headache.” 

_“Not one of your migraines, I hope.”_

“Nah,” Jason tries for an airy attitude, one void of any concern, and to his legitimate surprise, Alfred seems to accept his answer, though hesitantly. 

_“If you’re absolutely sure...”_

Deflect, Jason supplies to himself. “I assume Dick’s got you calling to do his dirty work?”

_“Not quite. Master Bruce asked me to call when Dick informed him that you’ve been dodging his calls all week.”_

“That’s new,” Jason mutters, swinging his legs over the bed and sliding to his feet. The sudden change in weight distribution elevates the pressure in his head. He swallows back a gasp, free hand finding the wall for support as he shuffles from his bedroom to his bathroom in search for pain killers. “What’s so important about tonight? Sounds like a standard drug bust that Dick can more than handle on his own.” 

_“Master Bruce would feel better if all of his sons were present tonight.”_

Jason doesn’t understand Bruce’s mind, his logic and reasoning for his choices. He never has, and he gathers that he never will. He snags a bottle of pain killers and balances his phone between his ear and shoulder, ignoring to sudden shift of pain in his head. 

“I have my own patrol, Alfred.” 

_“We’ll have all patrols covered, Master Jason. Your territory will be well looked after tonight.”_

Damn, Jason thinks. If there’s one thing Alfred is good at, it’s his verbal reassurance, something so frighteningly powerful. He dry swallows a few pills and drops against the edge of his tub with a sigh, fingers raking through his hair. 

“Fine. Will you send me the details?” He drags out each word slowly, making sure that Alfred knows he’s only agreeing because it’s Alfred asking. 

_“Of course.”_

***

Jason’s head feels far too heavy on his neck, the added pressure weighing it down. The pain killers chased off the edge of the migraine for a few hours, but per usual, the pain came back stronger as the pills wore off, and he’s opted not to take more, not wishing to risk being slightly sluggish. 

He walks up to see Dick, Tim, and Damian occupying a small corner down an alleyway, their odd meetup point. Tim’s seated, his back against a wall, and he’s yawning. Dick’s stood with his back against a wall across from Tim, his arms crossed, as he muffles a few light coughs into his fist. And, Damian’s standing closer to Dick with his right arm cradled close to his chest. 

Tension trickles down to Jason’s limbs, and he grips his helmet a little tighter in his hand as he approaches. “The fuck’s wrong with you all?” His own voice is a drill in his head, piercing through the pressure and re-distributing it unevenly.

It’s Tim who opts to speak around a second yawn. 

“Dick’s still recovering from the flu, and the Demon Brat hurt his wrist on patrol yesterday.” 

“My wrist is fine, Drake,” Damian spits out, drawing out words deliberately.

“I assume you haven’t slept,” Jason mutters, nodding toward Tim, who’s slow to get to his feet. 

“It’s fine.”

“It’s not,” Dick cuts in sharply, and Jason arches a single brow to the oldest, faintly curious. “You need sleep, Tim, or you’ll wind up sick.” 

“Funny since you’re the one who’s running a low grade fever.” 

“Grayson is competent, Drake, even while recovering from illness. He’s not so easily taken down by the flu.” 

“And what are you planning on doing tonight, Damian,” Tim drags out lowly, and Jason shifts his faint curiosity from one idiot to the other. 

“You can barely move your wrist.” 

“I’ve been trained to be ambidextrous, Drake-”

“-Okay,” Jason calls out, the curiosity from before replaced with dull, familair annoyance that’s now mixed in with a hot pain swirling in his skull. “Let’s just get this the fuck over with, yeah?” He looks to Dick, a silent question to take charge, and Dick nods and turns on his heel, leading everyone to the hinted base for the drug ring. 

“Father would tell you to watch your language,” Damian mutters at Jason’s side before he quickens his step to match Dick’s steady pace. 

Jason flips him off and shoves his helmet over his head, swallowing back a groan when the added weight pushes the pressure in different directions. Nausea starts to tumble in his stomach, and he tries his best to steady his breathing, pushing his concentration away from himself. 

“So, Timmy, what are the deets? Alfred didn’t say much.”

***

Turns out, Bruce’s hunch was correct, and all four were forced to hold their own against multiple, burly men, all of which got in numerous, painful hits before being taken down. The fight ended at the top of an apartment building across the street from the warehouse that was doubling as the drug storage, and Jason’s not sure he’s ever felt this much pain in his head, knowing that it didn’t help he let a few men get some solid hits to his face and temples. 

The others appear to be, more or less, in similar conditions. Dick’s down on one knee, panting heavily. Damian’s paler than usual, and he’s got his wrist held tightly to his chest, and Tim’s swaying on his feet, looking about ready to drop any second. 

Jason pulls a slow gaze around them, swallowing thickly around the bursting pressure that’s pushing hard against every inch of his skull now, swelling against his brain, leaving his vision fraying at the edges. He’s faintly aware that the others are talking amongst each other, but he can’t keep up with the conversation, not with the sudden roar in his ears that drowns out the voices around him. 

The pain’s... intense. It’s all he’s able to supply, most thoughts breaking against the pressure. He takes a step back, fingers clumsily slipping under his helmet. His vision is graying now, blurring, and he tries to blink around it. He can see Dick get to his feet, see the older boy frowning at him. He’s saying something to him, but Jason can’t work his mind around reading lips. No, all he wants is to get the damn helmet off his head, but his hands are shaking too hard to be of any use. 

He starts to feel hot all over despite the crisp fall air. He takes another, staggering step back, his legs struggling to hold his balance, to support the weight of his abdomen and head, and the back of his foot knocks hard into something. He only realizes that he’s bumped into the edge of the roof when he’s falling backward into open, empty space. 

His stomach plummets in time with his body, bringing back his vision, sounds, his surroundings. 

_“Jason!”_

He pulls his gaze from the tilting sky to see the others coming into view, and he wonders, briefly, if it’s the last thing he’ll ever see, but the thought gets josteled from his head when something small yet strong latches onto his ankle, followed by a loud, gasping cry. 

His back slams against the side of the apartment building, bringing with it bursting, white hot pain across his head, but he manages to stay present, craning his neck up to see Damian crying and holding onto his ankle with his injured hand. Dick stumbles toward them, wrapping one arm tightly around Damin to keep him up on the roof. 

“Jason! Do you think you can lean upward?”

Nodding, Jason breathes deeply around the pain and nausea, and he swings himself upward, arms flying forward until he’s grasping at the hands reaching out to him. Dick and Tim pull him up, and the second he’s upright, his vision grays until he blacks out entirely. 

***

“Come on, Jay, open your eyes for me.” 

Jason wants to be annoyed that the voice is waking him, but there’s something so soft and desperate in the tone, in the gentle touches at his face, so he decides to try and chase it. 

“Bruce is on his way.” 

That brings Jason back all at once, his mind reeling against pain, and nausea twisting so hard in his stomach. He leans to the side and vomits, mutely thankful that someone removed his helmet. 

“Shit, Jason!” 

He can feel a hand at his back, rubbing small circles, and when his stomach settles, he flops back onto his back with a groan, only faintly aware that his head is pillowed on Dick’s thigh. 

“Jay? You with us?” 

“Bruce says he’s two minutes out. He wants to know if we can make it off the roof.” 

Jason realizes slowly that there’s a voice missing, and then memories flood agaisnt the pressure in his head until he’s jerking forward to see Damian sitting across from his, tear trackes evident against his cheeks. 

“Fuck, Damian, your wrist-”

“It’s okay.” Damain’s voice is shaking, and Jason leans forward to pat Damian’s knee, unsure of what else he could do or say to properly express the heavy weight of appreciation for Damian saving his life. 

“Jason, what happened? Are you sick?” Dick’s voice is laced deep with worry at Jason’s back, two hands planted firmly to Jason’s shoulders.

Before Jason can answer, Bruce is swinging himself over the ledge of the roof, fully suited, dark eyes shifting between each son, falling on Jason. 

“Migraine,” he answers deeply for Jason. “Alfred suspected as much.” Bruce stops before him. “Can you walk?” 

Jason nods and allows Bruce to pull him to his feet. He sways for a moment, swallows back the need to dry heave, and grounds himself, faintly aware that Bruce’s hand is just inches from his elbow. He doesn’t meet Bruce’s studying gaze, doesn’t fully breathe until Bruce breaks away to assess the others. 

He watches, exhausted, as Damian argues with Bruce that he doesn’t need to be carried. He frowns when Tim stumbles into Dick, and Dick crouches down and instructs Tim to climb atop his back. He follows behind the others, listening in briefly to hear Tim grumble how Dick’s fever feels like it’s spiking, or how Bruce’s is tugging Damian tightly to his side and muttering reassurances under his breath. 

When they reach the ground floor, his knees begin to shake, but then Alfred’s at his side, worried, arm tight around his shoulders, and he’s guided into one of Bruce’s many cars, squeezing in the back beside the others. Tim’s directly to his left, and he drops his head to Jason’s shoulder almost immediately. Jason nudges him forward just enough to slip his arm around his back, and Tim curls closer into him. 

Jason decides that just for tonight, he’ll let him. He cranes his neck to see Damian similarly clinging to Dick, and he locks eyes with Dick, the two sharing a mutual, tired nod. 

Dragging his gaze slowly forward, Jason squeezes his eyes shut, focusing on the lull of the engine and not on the drum pounding in his head. 

“Shall I drop Master Jason off at his apartment?” 

“No, I want all of my sons at the manor tonight.” 

**Author's Note:**

> What even is characterization?
> 
> Come say hi or leave a prompt on tumblr! (@toosicktoocare)


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